


The nights are long, but we don't mind.

by RoseMeister



Category: Metro 2033 - All Media Types, Metro Last Light
Genre: F/F, Fem!Artyom AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 23:26:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5352314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseMeister/pseuds/RoseMeister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a musty hotel room in the middle of the night, it's obviously the best time for Artyom to freshen up her guitar skills. It's not like either her or Anna were sleeping, anyway.</p><p>Or HELL YEAH FEM ARTYOM AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	The nights are long, but we don't mind.

Artyom can hear the soft distant buzz of the station at night, and she groans into the worn fabric of her pillow. She didn't know what time it was, apart from far too early to actually do anything, and her mind was doing the same thing as the last couple of nights. She'd fall unconscious, then wake up, only to fall asleep and wake up once more, again and again, over and over a thousand times until it was morning. She hates it.

She hears a soft click, and frowns in fuzzy confusion. The clicking occurs again, and then a soft shift of metal against metal, normally so harsh, but done slow enough to be quiet.

Her body tenses, and she rolls over slowly, carefully, searching the room with as much precision as she can gather, finding no source of the sound until she rolls over entirely and can see Anna, sitting cross legged on the floor, her rifle in pieces on her lap.

Artyom coughs, and Anna snaps her head up, her eyes pitch black in the night, dark against her skin. Even as a Ranger, one of the few who even dare to venture to the surface, her skin understandably darker than most of those who have spent their entire lives below ground, even so, the night sucks the colour out of face, turns it into monochromatic shades of white and grey. 

Anna's dark eyebrows furrow. "I'm sorry if I woke you." She says simply, and looks towards her rifle. "I couldn't sleep."

Artyom sits up and swings her legs out of the bed. "It's alright." She says, sliding to the floor. "I wasn't sleeping well anyway."

Anna nods, and turns back to her work, unscrewing parts and inspecting them as carefully as she can in the dim light, and Artyom wishes she had the the sort of knowledge and care to be able to do the same to her own weapons. 

Anna's fingers are slender and calloused, and precise as they handle each part of her gun. Artyom is almost enchanted by her work, and it's only a glance up at her by Anna that makes her feel awkward, and she looks away, tries to find a different distraction. 

She can see the dim grey shape of the abandoned guitar in the corner, and she smiles. It's not hers, not by a long shot. As much as she loves the instrument, there's no way she could justify to herself, and much less Anna, the need to carry one around with her.

She stands, and can see Anna out of the corner of her eye, as she pauses in her work, and Artyom walks carefully over to the guitar, gently enough to avoid most of the groaning complaints of the building, and picks the guitar up, brushing some dust off it.

It's fairly old really, but quite well made, and in an impressive condition for an abandoned guitar in the corner of a cheap hotel room. She turns and returns to her place, glancing at Anna to see her eyes still on her.

"Do you mind if I play something?" She asks, and Anna thinks for a moment, then shakes her head.

"Go ahead." She says, and lowers her gaze once more, returning to her work.

Artyom strums the guitar, and flinches at the sound. She really shouldn't be surprised, she doesn't even know how long it's been sitting here, unattended, unloved. She tweaks the tuning knobs and tries again. Its closer, but not quite there, and she shifts it once more.

Anna chuckles, and Artyom looks up at her, an unspoken question writ on her lips. "The dead of night, and here we both are, fiddling with our favoured instruments. It's not quite right, so we change it again, but that's not quite there either so we change it, again and again until it's as perfect as we believe it can be." She pauses, and laughs lightly. "I'm sorry. It just amused me to think of how similar a rifle can be to a guitar."

Artyom smiles, and adjusts the knobs more, until she's satisfied that she can do no more for it. She strums the guitar, and she's still certain that the sound isn't quite perfect, but she doesn't think there is anything more she could do for it.

She moves her fingers to form her first chord, and starts to play, a slow song, simple enough for her. She feels quite rusty, her fingers more used to triggers and grenades than to a guitar, and she doesn't want to mess up too badly, not with Anna in the room.

She keeps the sound as soft as she can, and hopes that the song is slow and calm enough to not pass through the walls and wake anyone else up. She'd rather not be kicked out of the hotel at some godforsaken time of night for something like this.

Artyom bends over the guitar, and loses herself in the rhythm, humming along to the notes as she plays. The music drags forgotten memories to the front of her mind, and she smiles bitterly at the faded echo of her uncle, and every time he'd shook his head at her guitar, no matter how good she got at it.

"Ain't no where a woman can be a musician. It's not worth even practicing." 

Artyom smiles to herself. Women weren't meant to be Rangers either. And look at her now. Even if she had to lie to be one.

Not like it's an official rule, either, not when Anna was let in. But then again, with what Anna has said about it, Artyom knows even that even Anna's position in the Rangers isn't set in stone.

Artyom sways slightly, slow as her song, but a sharp clack of metal breaks her out of her focus, and her head jerks up towards the noise, towards Anna, scrambling to pick up a round cylinder that is already rolling away from her.

"Forgive me, I..." Anna glances up at Artyom and her face flushes slightly. "I wasn't paying attention. I'm sorry."

"It's alright." Artyom replies, and she stands, guitar hanging loose from her fingers. "I shouldn't have distracted you in the first place."

She moves to replace the instrument in the corner, but Anna shoots up, grabs her arm, not forcefully, but firm enough to pause Artyom's movements.

"Please don't stop. Not because of me."

A small smile worms it's way onto Artyom's lips. "I didn't know you liked guitar."

"I didn't either, really." Anna grumbles, and avoids her gaze.

Artyom laughs lightly, and sits back down, gets ready to play again. Anna lingers on her feet, and Artyom pats the space next to her, invites her to sit beside, and Anna consents, her side warm against Artyom.

She strums her guitar, begins another slow song. Anna sighs softly, and Artyom starts to sing, her voice low and gentle.

It feels nice. A guitar in her hands, a soft song on her lips, and Anna by her side. Honestly Artyom can't even say that she'd prefer to be asleep now. Sure she might regret it in the morning, but now? She loves it.

Anna's head droops, and rests on Artyom's shoulder, warm and real, and Artyom's voice falters, and she returns to just playing her guitar, not trusting her voice anymore. The music is still soft, but even slower now, and Artyom can hear Anna's breathing deepen and steady, and she lowers her guitar, and settles back.

"Goodnight, Anna." She whispers, and closes her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> There is literally no reason why Artyom cannot be a woman.


End file.
